"Mohammed, my young friend, what bliss has Fortune bestowed on you?

Tell your friend the secret; for, truly all that concerns and pleases you, gladdens my own heart. Tell me what has worked this change in you?"

"And you still ask? You see me in my uniform--in my glory, as you call it--it is this that has worked the change!"

The merchant shook his head. "No, it is not that, Mohammed Ali; that which sparkles in your eyes, and resounds from your lips in such joyous words, has nothing to do with your uniform or with your new dignity. It must be something entirely different; yet, if you do not wish to tell me, I will ask you no further. May Allah be with you in all things, and I will entreat the same of my God. I think and trust both will hear the prayer, for they are one and the same, after all.

Now, my young friend, come into my store with me and let us chat with each other while we smoke the nargile, and refresh ourselves with a cup of coffee.--Ho! ye lads; Admeh, bring us coffee and the nargile, with some of the finest tobacco--some of that intended for the sultana at Stamboul, that is to be sent off to-morrow. There is great joy in my house to-day, for Mohammed Ali, the young boulouk bashi, is here."

He seats himself on a cushion covered with Persian carpet, and requests Mohammed to seat himself on another at his side. He does as requested, but it does not escape the merchant's observant eye that he conforms to this hospitable usage with impatience, and does not wish to remain long. He therefore does not urge him to remain when he, after a short time, rises and asks the merchant to go with him to the store.

He wishes to buy all sorts of things. He has received his first salary from the tschorbadji to-day, and desires to spend a portion of it for some of the pretty things of which there are such quantities and varieties in the merchant's store.

"It depends on what you wish, Mohammed. Is it carpets or cushions?

or is it female attire or jewelry? Do you want mirrors, embroidered veils, or silken shawls? What is it you want?"

Somewhat confused and embarrassed, Mohammed looks at the merchant and hardly knows what to say.

"Then let me have a carpet; I wish to spread it out in my room. I have, until now, changed nothing in my hut, but have left it just as it was when Sitta Khadra lived in it. Now, however, it seems to me that it would not perhaps become the boulouk bashi to continue to live so wretchedly."

"Yes, the old story--with office comes pride," said the merchant, laughing. "The boulouk bashi, of course, needs carpets and all sorts of furniture. Here is an arm-chair inlaid with mother-of-pearl; does it suit? Here are Persian carpets; the colors are a little faded, and you can have them at a low price."

"No, nothing with faded colors. Let me have your most beautiful carpet! Let the ground be white and covered with flowers, with roses and violets; and I wish, too, they could have life and fragrance!"

"Oho, Mr. Boulouk Bashi!" cried the merchant, laughing, and raising his finger threateningly. "Now the secret is out; you are in, love!

This carpet is not for yourself, but for some beautiful woman. Ah, yes, I have heard something about this affair before, and now I know it is true."

"What have you heard, sir? What is it that is said of me?" asked Mohammed, gravely, his countenance suddenly darkening.

"Well, people ask why it is that Osman, the tschorbadji's son, is so very affectionate to you, and why the governor himself has always so distinguished you, and now made you boulouk bashi?"

"I had supposed it was because I deserved it," said Mohammed, hastily, "and I thought Osman showed his affection because he loved the friend who had grown up with him."

"He assuredly does love you, and the tschorbadji also rewards you on account of your merit, or he would not have done so at all, and would not have chosen you for what he desires of you."

"And what does he desire of me? For what has he chosen me?"

"It is said he wishes you to become the husband of the beautiful Marina, his niece."

"I do not even know this lady," said Mohammed, shrugging his shoulders.

"You do not know her, but she perhaps knows you," said the merchant, smiling. "She is very beautiful, it is said. She is married, as you are aware, to my rival, the merchant across the street, I have observed that this fair lady opens her shutters, to peep out at Mohammed, whenever he passes by. The neighbors say this is why her husband has become jealous, and threatens to drive her away, if she continues to look after the young men. You now perceive, Mohammed, that Marina, the tschorbadji's niece, has an eye on you, and perhaps even two, and that her husband knows it. The peace of the house has thus been broken on your account, and the people say the tschorbadji will now take his niece home again, and that you are to marry her afterward. It is a good match, Mohammed, a very good match. I shall be disappointed if you do not marry this lady. She is rich, very rich; and are you aware that, with your epaulets, your uniform, and your handsome sword, you must have money. Moreover, my son, he who intends to rise in the world must have a great deal of money! It is not through his own merit that a man is advanced. If he is poor, he remains in the dust. You know I have offered to assist you, but you refused me because you did not wish to accept benefits, and you were right. My advice you can, however, accept; and my advice is, marry the beautiful, the rich Marina, when her husband divorces her, and sufficient time has elapsed. She is very young, younger than you; my young friend Mohammed numbers eighteen years, and the tschorbadji's young niece only fifteen. Take my advice, and preserve your heart until it is time to let its wings grow, and then stretch out your hand after the fair Marina."

"Thanks for your advice," cried Mohammed, laughing.

Never before had the merchant heard him laugh so heartily; never before had he seen him make such a display of his white teeth. Until to-day, Mohammed had been a remarkably grave youth. What can it be that makes him look so joyous and laugh so heartily all of a sudden?

"Let us, however, hear no more about this fair Marina. I do not know her, and have never seen her. That is to say, I may have seen her once or twice, with Osman, when we happened to pass the veiled woman and her husband on the street, and I believe she did stand still and look after us. I thought, at the time, it was on Osman's account, and probably it was. How could the rich lady have turned to look at the poor lad Mohammed Ali? And now to other matters. Show me goods, show me carpets, and I want the best and the handsomest. The carpet is to lie where my mother's mat once lay, and on which she died; and this spot cannot be too handsomely adorned. Therefore, give me a costly carpet."

"Let it be just as you say," said the merchant, smiling. He then called his servants, and ordered them to bring down his handsomest carpets, and spread them out before the young captain, in order that he might select one.

"You want nothing else, only a carpet?"

Mohammed turned his head a little to one side, and avoided meeting the merchant's keen gaze. " O yes, a number of other things. I want some table-ware, cups, glasses, and the like. I also want," he continued talking rapidly, and with forced indifference, "I also want a warm woollen cloak, such as women wear. I promised a cloak to an old friend of my mother. Give me a warm woollen cloak."

The merchant made no reply. He only smiled significantly, and brought out the goods; dark, plain goods, such as became an old woman, and a friend of poor Sitta Khadra.

But Mohammed promptly rejected it. That would not be nice enough for a present. He wanted better, finer material, and in lighter colors.

The merchant expressed no astonishment, but silently brought out finer goods. Mohammed selected the very handsomest cloak for the old friend of his deceased mother. Finally, he timidly asked for finger- rings and bracelets.

"Also for the old friend of your good mother Khadra?" inquired the merchant, with an air of mock gravity.

Mohammed did not reply; he had probably not heard him. He quietly selected, from the box handed him, a beautiful ring set with a precious stone, then four beautiful cups and saucers of the finest Chinese porcelain, and a variety of other articles necessary for housekeeping. He concluded by demanding a pair of pillows and coverlids.

Mr. Lion asks no more questions; he now knows that Mohammed intends to marry, and is furnishing his house. He is satisfied, and lets his young friend have all he has selected at half the price he would have charged other purchasers.

Mohammed joyfully paid the price, and gazed at the beautiful articles he had purchased, with sparkling eyes.

"If you wish it, Mohammed," said the merchant, "I will send a servant with you."

"Thank you; I am going to my house, and he can accompany me with the things."

Mohammed took leave of the merchant, and left the store, the servant following heavily laden.

After a few moments Mohammed, however, turned, and came back to the merchant, who was standing on the threshold looking after him.

"One thing more, dear sir. You are my friend, and, as I well know, mean well by me," said he, in low, hasty tones.

"Certainly, Mohammed Ali, and gladly would I prove to you my friendship."

"You can do so; tell no one of my purchases--no one," replied Mohammed with a look of entreaty.

The merchant promised to be silent on the subject.

"Thank you, kind friend. I am happy; yet all depends on Allah's blessing."

He pressed the merchant's hand once more, and walked out, hastily beckoning to the servant, who had remained standing in the street, to follow him. He then walked on to the little hut of his mother Khadra.

He pushes open the door, and the servant follows him into the room.

The bundle is laid on the floor, on the place where his mother died, and Mohammed generously and proudly, like a man of rank, hands the servant a gratuity, and bids him return. He walks off well pleased, and Mohammed is now left alone in his mother's hut.

An old woman is sitting just opposite the hut. She was there when he entered, smoking a short pipe, her arms crossed on her knees. She looked about carelessly, only now and then casting a glance at the house of the young boulouk bashi, who had locked himself in.

Mohammed had thought nothing of her presence. What cared he for the old woman there on the stone, smoking her pipe?

When, after a short time, he steps out of his hut, she stretches out her hand and begs for alms.

Hardly looking at her, he draws a copper coin from his pocket, gives it to her and walks on.